


Think kindly of me

by notvega



Series: Peace in our time [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bellatrix Black Lestrange (mentioned) - Freeform, Childhood Friends, Childhood set-up of the Black/Meadowes dynamic, Cute Kids, Gen, Narcissa Black's looks are speculated on, OCs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 21:11:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16145600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notvega/pseuds/notvega
Summary: Druella Black is quite curious about the little Greek wife Gilbert Meadowes has found himself, and if Andromeda and Narcissa manage to make a friend of the daughter, that's all very nice, too.





	Think kindly of me

***

February 1962

***

“I suppose we had best invite them for tea,” Druella muses absentmindedly, leafing through the Evening Prophet for news on the new Wizengamot appointment. Her first cousin has his eyes set on the position, and no matter how often she tells him how silly it is to hope for it before one’s sixth decade, she can’t deny she would be very pleased if he did make it. 

Her husband nods, sloshing the expensive firewhiskey around in his tumbler, his generally unreadable face faintly amused. 

“We should. Gilbert will have much to tell us about the state of the continent.” 

Certainly the state of the women, although he is careful enough not to say that to his wife. Gilbert Meadowes is a cheerful and amiable man, clever enough, but has the reputation of a scoundrel when it comes to the ladies. Cygnus doubts that his little Greek wife is the only continental witch taken in by compliments and deep blue eyes in the two decades of the man’s diplomatic exploits. 

“Besides, he’s a good man, and old blood too. If he wants to establish himself here in England, we should lend him a hand.”

It is always good to have an ambitious man owe one a favour.

***

Madam Tabitha Meadowes is by no means comfortable, Druella notices with a certain level of satisfaction. Sitting up extremely straight, her hands clasped white-knuckled in her lap, she has the appearance of someone perpetually on the defence. Good. Cygnus can assure her all he wants that the woman’s family is every bit Gilbert’s equal in rank and tradition; Druella can’t help but regard her as something of a social climber. It is only right for that sort to marvel at the beauty of one of the Black summer houses. Gilbert for his part seems splendidly at ease reclining in the oaken chair. His immaculate white dress shirt is blatantly oriental, as is the elaborate necktie. On other men, the attention to clothing might seem feminine, but not Meadowes. Perhaps some of the young Madam Meadowes’ unease stems from her husband’s reputed easy grace with other women. Although that might have ceased with the birth of a child. It does for some men, Druella thinks. Not that she ever had that sort of problem with Cygnus.

In nature if not in looks, the daughter seems to follow more nearly her father than her mother, she observes. Young Dorcas seems quite as happy chatting in accented English with Narcissa and Andromeda, as Gilbert is reminiscing about old times with her husband. The conversation is split, the men talking almost entirely among themselves about memories she has no part of. It is not entirely unusual that when with old school chums, Cygnus ignores her almost to the point of rudeness. She has learnt to bear it.

“Your daughters are very lovely.” Tabitha Meadowes’ accent is notable, much heavier than her daughter’s, but she is clearly more capable of English than Druella assumed.

“Thank you,” Druella responds, the compliment finally bringing something of a smile onto her thin face. Perhaps she is being too hard on Madam Meadowes. It has to be a strain to converse in a foreign language, surrounded entirely by people whose families - good, respectable families - have known each other for generations. “Your Dorcas seems to take to the country quite well. I assume your husband and you have settled into your new home?”

Her tense posture finally relaxing a little, Tabitha nods. “We have. It is quite pleasant down in Wiltshire.”  
“Then you must live near Abraxas and his wife, how lovely.” No doubt a conscious choice on the part of Gilbert Meadowes. Wanting to establish oneself in England tends to require the sponsorship of at least one of the old families, even if one is as old and respected as the Meadowes are in the Irish Republic. And Malfoy comes not just with the same sort of quality pedigree as the Blacks, but with clout on the Wizengamot.

“Yes, they have been very kind. They lent us their elf.” A hint of a smile flits across Tabitha’s face, only to disappear so fast as to make Druella question whether it was there at all.

So they have indeed been working that angle. Clever. Druella wonders just how much of that doe-eyed, shy, perpetually awed demeanour is genuine, and how much of it is playing to what English wizarding nobility likes to see in pretty foreign witches?

Her shoulders are getting tense. She has always adored flying, and even now gets exercise regularly, or as much as is at all possible. Sitting inside for too long is unpleasant enough, doing it while in stunted conversation with a foreigner was simply too bad. 

“My dear Tabitha, Gilbert, Cygnus, we absolutely mustn’t let this beautiful day go to waste.” She rises from her seat decisively, utterly (and correctly) confident that her husband will follow her lead from mere habit. 

***

“Must we really join, Mother?” 

Andromeda scoffs. “Oh Cissy, don’t be so silly. I’m sure that Mother can put a shielding charm on your skin this time.” 

The blonde huffs, turning to look at Dorcas and silently daring her to laugh. The petite newcomer wisely focuses on re-tying the laces on one of her tiny boots. 

“Narcissa, won’t you enjoy showing Dorcas the grounds?” Her father’s voice is gentle, as usual. It always makes her feel bad, feel guilty for being so difficult when he does that. 

“Yes, Father,” she acquiesces, looking down at the floor and trudging off to her submit to her mother’s futile attempts at shielding her delicate porcelain skin from the sun.

***

“Your sister looks very different from you, doesn’t she?” Dorcas asks quietly as she and Andromeda are given their cloaks and hats to put on. The sun is deceptive, it is very much a chilly, early-spring type of day. She still hasn’t gotten used to the dreadful climate of their new home. 

Andromeda fidgets about with the buttons on her cloak, uncertain how much to say on the topic of her sister’s appearance. “I suppose she does. It is more extreme with Bella. She has proper black hair like Papa. And you.”

“She is away at school?”

“Yes, at Hogwarts. I will go there too, in September,” Andromeda replies with more than a hint of pride. Finally. She is normally closer to Bella in any case, and spending all her time with Cissy has made her realise why. At least Bella doesn’t fuss over a bit of dirt on her dress. 

Dorcas nods, pulling her cloak more closely around her shoulders as they take the first steps out the door. “I think Father is sorting it out for me as well.”

“You’ll be with Cissy then, good luck - oh, there you are,” Andromeda transitions nearly seamlessly when the blonde catches up to them, her heart-shaped face for once not set in a frown at being outside. “Did the spell work?”

“I think so. Your mother,” she turns to Dorcas with a raised eyebrow, “apparently knows some spells for not getting a sun tan at all. She said it’s necessary in the south.”

All three of them have to admit that for all the chilly winds, the gently sloping green meadow with intermittent displays of carefully trimmed flowers and marble statues is quite stunning bathed in the soft, late-afternoon sun. It is a good day, and one that all three of them will remember with some degree of fondness in the years to come.


End file.
